Last night was the night from hell. I never want to have another night like that. It was not the worst night of my life. That night might go to one of my nights at Stanford or the night my mother had to go to the hospital when I was about eleven. Those were worse nights, but then there were reasons.
Last night, I had none.
I was exhausted and in bed quite early. Around 11:30. But as I lay, tossing and turning with my eyes shut tightly, sleep would not come to me. I was so tired, too tired to get up and do anything, almost too tired to open my eyes, but sleep was not friendly with me. It would not come to relieve me of my weariness.
And then, just as sleep finally came within my grasp, a stab of pain ran through my heart. I winced. My emotional pain had decided to manifest itself physically.
Convulsions of ripping pain wracked my entire body. Pain of despair and hopelessness. Burning, searing pain was kindled in my breast and burned as though it would burn out my heart.
I writhed in my bed. Sweaty and with my hair all amuss in my face as I tossed and turned, curled up and stretched out, grasped my teddy bear and let her go. The pain was destroying me. I cried and cried. Choking on my tears. Hyperventilating from the pain and the knowledge that I could not stop it. I cried out in the darkness. And each time I uttered a name, a huge rippling wash of pain would engulf me. Needless to say, I stopped calling out names. It was doing me more harm than good.
Eventually, I calmed myself down. I lay back down as the pain subsided, little spasms of the gut wrenching aches taking me every now and then as I finally fell asleep.
In the midst of all this though, I am happy to say, that I did not harm myself. I did not hit, I did not cut, I did not fetch a knife to do away with myself and my pain. I endured the pain.
I woke up this morning after a suprisingly restful sleep, only to find that the paroxysms of malaise were continuing. It was the worst of it. The quiet, passive, burning and searing in my heart. It continues. Sometimes giving a brief lash out, just to remind me that it is still there. And I groan.
I can't go fetch a medicine for this. I can't pop a tylenol and wait an hour and be done with it. It continues. And I hate it. I want to be done with this pain. I want it to go away.
Dissipate.
I was trying to update less, but I am addicted. This diary is my drug. When I feel anything, I can come pour out the feelings here. And it relieves me. It takes the edge off. I try to talk to other people about things so that I can hold off entries until I can make them longer and condense a lot more into one, but its tough for me to do sometimes. Sometimes I don't feel like talking to people. And sometimes there is no one there to talk to when I most need to talk, for whatever reasons. Like now. I don't blame a soul and I am not unhappy with anyone. Yet I had to get this out, and if it meant another entry so soon after the last...well then, so be it.